


Turn My Head with Talk of Summertime

by thats_vexing



Category: Atlantis (UK TV)
Genre: Jagoras, M/M, spoilers for 1.09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 04:16:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thats_vexing/pseuds/thats_vexing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason falls silent for a moment. He can’t tell Pythagoras what he is destined to do. Sharing it with another would only confirm it, and he can’t let him share such a burden. “I’ve done… will do… something terrible.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn My Head with Talk of Summertime

**Author's Note:**

> I blasted this out in the early hours of the morning after spending most of the night thinking about yesterday’s episode… Therefore, any bizarre mistakes are my own.

Jason hardly registers the walk home. He half expects lightning to strike him or something, but the gods remain silent. It is only for now, though, there is a sense of anticipation in the air. A far greater punishment would be to let him fulfill his destiny anyway, so they are most likely resting on their laurels until Jason decides to take a stand against them.

He desperately looks to the floor as he arrives home, avoiding looking at the petrified figures by their door, but he knows they are still there, frozen in horror for eternity. Those poor people didn’t know what was coming. Jason did.

The house is still and eerily quiet. Despite it being the early hours of the morning, and there was no doubt that no one was sleeping, no candles were lit. The only light came from the window - now charred and scorched - which slid over what remained of their furniture with a silvery glow. He couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the moon’s shine tonight. Though if it weren’t for that light, he wouldn’t have seen a figure sat at the table, completely immobile.

Pythagoras appeared so lost in thought, he could well have been petrified too, but his eyes follow Jason as he comes into the room. The rotting bread still sat on the end of the table - miraculously,  _that_ had survived the fire. There is no sign of Hercules, but the door to his room is shut tightly.

“He won’t talk to me.” Pythagoras says quietly, startling Jason as if he had yelled. “I have never seen him like this.” Jason sits opposite him silently, Pythagoras still hasn’t moved. “He blames himself”

“He shouldn’t,” Jason says too harshly, Pythagoras flinches.

“Of course not—“

Jason can’t help it. The Oracle’s words still ring through his head as if he had heard them one hundred times over –  _you will have no choice but to kill Medusa_. Each time he thinks it, the worse the twist of self-hatred in his gut feels. “I knew this would happen, I could have stopped it…”

“What in the gods names are you talking about?”

“Don’t talk to me about the gods.” Jason snaps with a flare of anger, but he realises too late that it really wasn’t the most tactful thing to say.

Pythagoras frowns, studying him carefully. “Jason? Jason. What have you done? Talk to me.” Pythagoras grabs his wrist, holding tightly, but his touch doesn’t have the same urgency of his voice. It is his bandaged hand. Somehow, their escapade to the underworld seems worlds away now. “Don’t look at me like that, I know when something is troubling you.”

Jason falls silent for a moment. He can’t tell Pythagoras what he is destined to do. Sharing it with another would only confirm it, and he can’t let him share such a burden. “I’ve done… will do… something terrible.”

He falters, but Pythagoras is stern with him, “spit it out.”

“I challenged the gods.”

He had to give Pythagoras some credit, calm and often far too logical in a crisis sometimes, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. The serenity of the motion lulls Jason into a false sense of security, and for a moment, he feels like everything is going to be okay. But once Pythagoras opens his eyes, he can see the disappointment, the worry, and feel the stress starting to take hold in the other man’s mind from the way the hand tightens on his wrist. “You did  _what?_ ”

He knows that Pythagoras heard him perfectly well, but he can’t look into those blue eyes any more and see the frustration in them. He stares at the bread instead. How long it ago it seemed that they were squabbling over it.

“Why?” Pythagoras sighs.

That single word affects him far more than any dirty look, than any exasperated comment, or if Pythagoras had yelled at him, it would have been far less painful. Jason doesn’t miss the way his voice quivers over the single syllable, betraying what his eyes don’t - worry, trepidation, fear. The rage he felt at his core fizzles and falters.

“The Oracle, she said… It was my destiny. But I couldn’t, I  _can’t._ ” This is the last thing Pythagoras needs, another friend to comfort while he’s still licking his own wounds from the last couple of terrible days, he should be tending to Hercules, instead. But the reality of what he has done began to settle on his shoulders and Pythagoras’ tightening grip on his wrist stops him from sinking back into his tumultuous thoughts.

He doesn’t pry, doesn’t push any further, and just says the one thing Jason needs to hear, even if it is not entirely true. “I understand.”

They fall into silence again, though it is charged with slight tension that Jason’s revelation had brought. “First Circe, and now this, how do you manage it, Jason?”

“This is not your battle, this is my own; I started it.” Jason insists. So often had Pythagoras been dragged into trouble because of him, Jason was practically a magnet for danger, and Pythagoras was unfortunate enough to be acquainted with him. “You are not concerned.”

Pythagoras’ hand tightens for a fraction of a second, with a far stronger grip than Jason had expected. “Oh, but I am. You clearly don’t realise it, Jason, but I’m very much concerned.” Jason looks up the moment Pythagoras looks away. “I care about you. I care about you a lot. I may not have started it but I will help you finish it, I will fight with you and for you. Your methods are not ideal, I admit that, but I trust your judgment.”

Pythagoras’ confession disarms him completely. He realises that he would do no less in return for his friend, but when it is put into words like that, it seems like something more. “What am I going to do?”

“What you always do, do everything in your power to make things right. I will be there to help where I can.” Jason runs his free hand through his hair. It had been a long night. A long, terrible, difficult night. Sure, Jason had anticipated it, but he never really believed it would happen, and it doesn’t mean he is any more prepared with what to do or say. Pythagoras isn’t wrong, it will turn out all right in the end, but for now they all hurt, and need to rely on each other until they figure things out.

“What have I done to deserve you?” He asks quietly, to the room at large rather than the man sat in front of him.

“Not long ago, I asked myself the same thing.” Pythagoras says drily. The window captures his attention, and Jason follows his gaze. The sky is beginning to lighten, deep navy fading to fresh orange. It is beautiful, and for a moment, they forget the terrible night that had just occurred, they forget that Pythagoras is still holding Jason’s wrist. The grip isn’t comforting now, more than that, something shared between them.

“You should get some sleep.” Pythagoras says after a few seconds, minutes, it could have been hours for all he knew.

Jason replies honestly, “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“No, I didn’t think so.” Pythagoras tears his eyes from the sky and looks back at Jason. He is still concerned, frustrated; there is something else too, something raw and painful. His hand tightens on Jason’s wrist. “Will you stay with me? Just for a while.” He had looked out for his friends, and done all he could for them, now he needed someone to look after him.

“Of course.” Jason twists his hand to slide into Pythagoras’, squeezing gently. The rough material of the bandage on Pythagoras’ palm grates across his skin, but his hand is smooth and warm. They stay like that for a while; each lost in the other’s thoughts, but grounded in this moment.

“I might move that bread though.” Jason mutters wrinkling his nose at the smell; and savours the way that Pythagoras’ face lights up with the faintest of smiles.


End file.
